Problems With Pink
by Ai Chiyo
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was having a relatively normal and mundane day at school, that is until he pulled out a fabulously bright pencil, that's where all the troubles began. And they'll end with Mycroft as they usually do. T for more mature topics concerning sexuality and teasing. Lots of brotherly fluff. Possibilities of continuation upon request !


_Problems With Pink_

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_Disclaimer; I, of course, do not own Sherlock, if I did, well, frankly, everyone would be positively gay. Enjoy!_

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It was a relatively normal day for Sherlock that is until he pulled out a pencil, to be specific a _pink_ pencil, a _screaming_ pink mechanical pencil, yes, _that's_ where it all went wrong, with a _pencil_. He removed it from his dark pencil case and immediately there were resounding snickers in the small class room. The sharp smack of a ruler on a desk quickly stopped such an outburst, but it didn't stop what came later at lunch.

He was walking to his usual secluded spot when he was suddenly slammed up against the rough brick wall by one of his stockier classmates. The other two were unnaturally skinny, but one person stood out the most, it was _her_.

"_Well_, _well_, just _look_ at what we caught boys." Her sickly sweet voice spilled into the open air as she stepped closer to Sherlock. She reached her hand out and into his pocket retrieving the obnoxiously pink pencil.

"And it just so happens he has his flaming pencil. Doesn't it make the _incredibly_ manly Sherlock Holmes look a bit, well, _gay_?" She said with a smirk, the smell of her pink bubble gum filling his nose. She turned and looked back at him.

"Are you _gay_, Sherlock? Are you a _fag_?" She whispered her hot breath tickling the shell ear as she twirled the pencil between her delicate doll-like fingers.

She waited for an answer, but Sherlock refused to give her one. That would be giving her satisfaction and he wouldn't want to waste his breath anyway. Unfortunately she took this the complete wrong way.

"Look at that! He's not even denying it! You _are_ a fag! I cannot believe this. It's so _rich_! Isn't it boys?" Her voice was latent with happiness and triumph. They all agreed with her and flung a few more insults before leaving Sherlock thoroughly ruffled.

He was _not_ gay. How dare they even suggest such a thing? What basis did they have? _Evidence_? A _pencil_? The color no less! Just because it was a girly color didn't make him less manly nor did it make him _gay_. It's such a preposterous thought and a stupid one at that, but what more could he expect of his classmates, after all they were _exceptionally_ stupid…

Sherlock sighed sitting and eating his small meal before returning to the lunchroom to throw away the remnants. He found himself bombarded with insults and bad gay jokes. Sherlock just sighed and left the room looking unfazed. His walk sped up to a jog and then to a full out run. His lungs were burning with cool air and his hair was matting to his forehead, but all he could focus on was his destination. Long forgotten were his classes and even his school bag by the birch tree where he ate.

Sherlock burst into the empty flat he shared with his brother. He was blinking back tears and sweaty, but all he could think about was a shower. Showering was good. Showering was a distraction from this… this…. _feeling_.

He bounded into the loo his hands already working at stripping the ridiculous uniform from his body before moving onto setting up the shower. He flicked his wrist turning on only the hot water. Hot water was even better for a shower, more distraction. He stepped in closing the textured glass door behind him. His eyes scanned the caddy hanging from the pipe connecting to the shower head as the water poured over his lean, pale body.

Of course everything was in place, why wouldn't it be? This was Mycroft anyway. He was absolutely anal about the setup of everything whereas Sherlock often left things out or threw them around carelessly with no thought of needing them later. Mycroft claimed that it was easier this way, everything spiffy and in its place, but Sherlock suspected it was just another power play on the part of his cold and controlling brother. Though at this point he was thankful for his dependable, stuffy older brother without him who knows what he'd do…

Sherlock shook the thought from his head as he lathered his curly locks in shampoo focusing on his fingers working into his scalp and cleaning his mop of hair. He rinsed leisurely, he was waiting after all, why not indulge? He sighed softly before grabbing the conditioner and applying small amounts of it. He really didn't need conditioner, but it took time and required him to be focused, and that was reason enough for Sherlock right now.

He rinsed his hair of the heavy moisturizing product before training his eyes on a poof, a dark blue poof, Mycroft's poof to be exact, he knew for a fact it would probably piss his older brother off, but it's worth it he decided as he poured a small amount of the soap on it before lathering it on the netted surface causing a fragrant foam to develop. He stepped out of the spray and scrubbed himself. His skin was tingling and slowly turning pink.

He thrust the poof into the hard spray of water watching with fascination as the suds dripped off. He did that for a while, just watched the suds fall with a childish type of happiness, but he knew it was enough when water just ran through the netting. He replaced it exactly where he got it from. He didn't want to give Mycroft anymore of a reason to be mad at him.

He then let the water wash the foam from his body. He stood there for a few minutes before abruptly flicking the water off and drying hastily. He'd wasted far too much time in the shower. And so with a different towel wrapped around his waist he retreated out of the humid bathroom and into a vaguely familiar room. It wasn't his own, no, it was his brother's…

He pulled out the top drawer of the dresser and gently shifted the clothing looking for a few key pieces. Or rather just three. He found the shirt first. It was old and soft, but most importantly the shirt he gave Mycroft when he was six. It was way too large for either of them, but Sherlock had claimed that it was meant as a lounging shirt.

'It is though…' He thought as he slipped it over his head taking comfort in the bagginess of it. A soft smile crossed his face and floated in place.

It would only figure that he found the pants first. With their light blue color and small yellow ducks it was meant as a gag gift especially being Sherlock's size not his brother's, but Mycroft had kept it all the same. It wasn't often Sherlock got him anything be it as a joke or not.

He slipped the undergarment on letting the towel momentarily fall to the ground as he searched for the sweats. The sweats fit his brother perfectly, but they were a bit big on Sherlock. Something he adored, not that he'd ever admit that, as it would turn out they were in the second drawer. He pulled the charcoal gray sweats on not bothering to fix the way they draped on his hips or hung down over his feet. He shuffled over to the bed and buried himself into it. And that was where Mycroft found Sherlock roughly two hours after he'd first gotten in.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked warily approaching the bed slowly unsure of just what was going on. His brother looked at him weakly and Mycroft inhaled sharply.

He certainly wasn't prepared for what he saw, Sherlock, dressed in old clothing with damp hair and puffy eyes. Whatever had happened had to be horrible for him to take refuge in his own room. He sighed and shook his head pulling out his phone. He tapped out a quick message.

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_Anthea, I'm sorry to inform you that I cannot attend the outing as planned. –MH_

_Oh? Is Sherlock running amuck again? –Anthea_

_Something like that. I really should start dealing with it. Give my apologies to everyone. –MH_

_Of course, Mycroft. Good luck I'm sure you'll need it. –Anthea_

_I just might. Have a good time, Anthea. –MH_

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He placed his phone on the dresser noting how Sherlock's eyes were following him, but not assessing him as usual. He went about getting things in order. Like picking up the towel his brother had left on the floor to mold and shutting the drawers of which he opened and never closed.

"You didn't have to cancel." Sherlock called softly to his brother noticing him stopping and glancing back.

"Cancel?" He asked simply before moving onto making himself comfortable.

"Your plans. You were texting Anthea." Mycroft just shrugged though that didn't stop the spread of a small, happy smile on Sherlock's face.

His brother cared enough to cancel plans with his friends. Now that was a nice feeling. He never thought his brother would do such a thing for him after their fall out a few years back when Sherlock was in junior high and Mycroft was just starting his selective studies. Apparently he would…

The bed dipped slightly and Sherlock sighed seeing his brother's back. So he'd changed? Odd, he hadn't noticed him leaving the room… He waved the thought away he was thinking after all. He always became a little less perceptive when thinking.

"Now what's this all about Sherlock?" Mycroft asked softly looking into his brother's sea glass eyes.

"All of what?" He asked innocently. Mycroft sighed.

"All of this. You're in my bed, in clothing that you gave me, and," He paused smelling, "You smell like my showering products. That doesn't just happen for no reason. So tell me Sherlock. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to talk about it." Sherlock sighed this time squeezing his eyes shut and speaking through grit teeth.

"She…. She called me gay and told the whole school…" Mycroft strained to hear the words.

"She? Sally Donovan?" He asked for clarification. Sherlock just winced and nodded. He hated her name, it was like admitting she was important enough to remember, and she certainly was not. Mycroft frowned slightly.

"And something tells me there's more to this. So go on."

"It was all because of a pencil…" Mycroft blinked.

"A _pencil_?" He asked incredulously in disbelief. He could hardly see how a pencil had anything to do with being taunted about being gay.

"Pink." Mycroft's head tilted.

"Excuse me?"

"Pink." Sherlock hissed wanting him to understand.

"Pink?" Mycroft prompted.

"The thing was _bloody_ pink! Flaming, fluorescent, look-at-me-I'm-gay _pink_!" He growled with disdain.

"Oh…" Mycroft said.

He knew why now. Pink, if you weren't a girl, you didn't have anything remotely pink, not even an oddly colored red item, anything close to it was grounds for relentless teasing over being gay. He sighed softly looking down at his distraught brother. He reached out and smoothed a hand through his curly locks.

"I'm sorry Sherlock…"

"I'm not gay…" He whispered softly his voice full of pain.

Mycroft paused with his ministrations. He was pretty sure his brother wasn't straight. He hardly even glanced at a girl, but then he didn't look at boys either. He didn't really know what made his brother tick. He drew in a breath and nodded.

"You…" He whispered.

"Excuse me?" What did he have to do with anything?

"You're gay." He said softly looking up at his older brother.

Mycroft was taken aback. Though he really shouldn't have been. This is Sherlock after all. He never fails to notice the obvious, well, physically obvious anyway. Give him emotional and he's lost. Practically drowning. Mycroft sighed softly.

"Yes, I am." He replied.

"It wasn't a question."

"I know, Sherlock, I know." He said softly and soothingly returning to playing with the soft locks knowing good and well that it would relax the boy.

"My…" He whispered the nickname ever so softly.

"Yes, Lockie?" He prompted looking down at his brother lovingly. His brother looked up at him pleadingly. He didn't want to ask. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Well scoot over then!" He said slightly exasperated.

Sherlock scooted over quickly eager to have his big brother in bed and to cuddle. It wasn't often they had these moments of affection, but when they did it was always awkward and very, very special. Mycroft wound his arms around his brother planting a kiss on the top of his head.

"You know they're idiots." Sherlock's head bobbed slightly with a nod. Mycroft rubbed his arms softly.

"And nothing they say actually matters. Nor does their opinions. It's all rubbish." He said softly his baritone rumbling into Sherlock's ear due to being pressed closely to his brother's chest.

Sherlock smiled the tears spilling from his eyes despite his wishes. They were bittersweet tears. Caused by the mixing of emotions. The good and the bad. The pencil and his brother. The taunts and the assurance. He really did love his older brother. Even if he did talk a little too much.

"My?" He said cutting his brother off.

"Yes, Lockie?"

"Thank you for cancelling." Mycroft smirked slightly.

"Anytime, Lockie." He replied hugging him a bit closer.

"I love you." They said in unison.

The two really were a lot alike despite their protests of being profoundly different. They shared the same genes, the same mind, same formal speech pattern, and the same knack for just getting each other. They didn't need words, they just chose to use them. And though they often fought like cat and mouse, they loved each other deeply, their bond was a unique one, but neither of them would have it any other way.

The next morning Sherlock was up and ready for school with Mycroft's words loud in his ears. He could do this. He _would_ do this. He smiled down at the pink pencil. It was now his favorite. He slipped it into his pocket and walked to school slowly having more than enough time as usual.

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**A/N; So, for my first Sherlock fic, was it horrible? Good? I'd really like to know. And of course if it's requested enough I'll do some more with this pencil. After all my brain is full of ideas for this bit. I wouldn't mind getting it out at all. That is if all of you would like to read it! Review it and tell me? **


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